


Between the Pages

by Rhysanoodle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Collaboration, Drawing, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28004874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysanoodle/pseuds/Rhysanoodle
Summary: We did a thing! So@sncinderand I collabed for this piece where we came up with an idea and she drew Azriel’s sketchbook while I wrote up a fluffy little fic for it.
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Between the Pages

Okay, so maybe it was a teeny-tiny violation of privacy to be going through Azriel’s nightstand, but Elain had been tidying up. And when she went to tuck his reading glasses into the bedside table, she just so happened to notice the large book, well-worn and bulging.

It wasn’t her fault that she had flipped open a small corner and noticed a bit of a charcoal drawing which piqued her curiosity enough that she soon found herself propped up against the fluffy pillows, settled in, as she began to peruse the sketchbook in earnest.

Although it wasn’t just a sketchbook; it appeared to be a journal of some sort. Interspersed with the sketches of flowers and family members were little sentences jotted in the margins. Memories which he sealed not just in images but in words as well.

Elain’s cheeks heated as she realized that he frequently wrote little memoirs of their escapades alongside beautiful sketches of her in floppy sun hats, shadows swirling around her form.

She began flipping through in earnest, focusing on the drawings on every page. Elain. Morrigan at Solstice. Cassian Smirking. A landscape. A gorgeous and rare crescent spotted fawn he’d told her about. More Elain. Their family strewn throughout. Each page held many different depictions, yet what was missing from all of these was any trace of Azriel himself.

He had been snuggled up next to her on the bench under the pergola where she was shown staring off into her begonias. He had been there that night at Rita’s, drinking and reveling with the rest of the Inner Circle. He had clearly spent some time up in the mountains which he’d drawn in such vivid detail.

She found herself laughing at his musings about ear shapes, carefully depicting those of High Fae and Illyrian and human alike. _What’s the point for anyway?_ That had made her chuckle aloud, and she clapped a hand over her mouth before Azriel could hear her and come to investigate. It was a miracle that his shadows hadn’t seemed to have tattled on her already anyways. They did have a particular fondness for her though, which she recalled with no shortness of smugness.

The sudden interruption drew her back to her previous fixation. Though this sketchbook was clearly his handiwork, she wished there were more traces of _him_ here, and she wondered why he’d never attempted a self portrait.

Obviously, he was not a vain male, but … Something still stung within her at the thought that he might not think himself worthy of drawing, as if he were a shadow hanging on the edge of all of these moments but never fully participating. 

That just wouldn’t do for Elain, and that was the exact reason she found herself throwing on her heavy winter cloak and spiriting out the door and down to Feyre’s studio on the Sidra.

She burst in, only to find a class in full swing, Feyre sitting up at her easel at the front of the class guiding some pubescent Fae children through a painting exercise. This was much more measured and controlled compared to Elain’s experience watching Feyre with the littlings, but Elain couldn’t help but notice that one snickering male’s still life was bordering on phallic as his awed friends were also struggling to contain their laughter.

She sat there, not wanting to interrupt as her sister guided them through the painting, focusing on her brush techniques as she painted the vase of flowers in the center, hoping they would pick up on even the dregs of the lesson itself. Which was more than could be said for Elain. It was all going over her head.

When the class concluded, Feyre left her easel and noticed Elain gaping dumbly as she moved to clean up before the next class could begin. “Elain!” Her sister’s smile bloomed as she moved in for a colorful hug. “What brings you down here today?”

Elain swallowed dryly as she admitted, “I was wondering if I could sign up for one of your classes.”

“Oh!” Feyre’s eyebrows shot up, and Elain wondered if she shouldn’t have shown more of an interest in Feyre’s favored pastime before. Her sister’s shock made her border on embarrassment. “Which one?”

“Umm … I’m not sure. Do you have something which focuses just on sketching? I’m”—she fought to come up with a reasonable excuse which didn’t out Azriel’s secret—“just not sure how great I’d be with colors and the whole painting aspect, but I’d love to learn how to draw.”

“Hmm. I actually don’t offer anything of the sort yet, but perhaps I should. You could be my very first!”

“Deal. Consider me your guinea pig,” Elain affirmed, thrilled that her idea had sparked something within Feyre.

“Count me in too,” boomed a voice from the doorway, as Cassian strode in. “What am I getting into, now?”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Feyre was just agreeing to open up a sketching class for me so I can learn.”

“Well, that sounds like fun,” Cassian drawled. Turning to Feyre he added, “The mate was worried you forgot your lunch today,” as he set a small bundle on her worktable.

“Oh, thanks! And we’d be happy to have you, Cass,” Feyre beamed at the Illyrian warrior as she went back to taking stock of her classroom.

* * *

Sketching classes had turned from something Elain was excited about to something incredibly infuriating for her. She was gods awful, with absolutely no talent of the sort, and the worst part? Cassian was actually pretty decent.

He often would lean over after completing the assignment himself and catch glimpses of Elain’s confounded attempts, as she went through sheet after sheet of parchment, trying to replicate the various objects Feyre had procured for them to study.

“You know a candle isn’t usually that _fuzzy_ , right?” he smirked, holding up one of her latest attempts at shading which had just gone horribly, horribly wrong. She wasn’t about to let him anywhere near the sketches she attempted in private—those of hardened eyes, veiny wings, and calloused. Gods, why did hands need to be so godsdamned complicated. They all found themselves being incinerated in the fireplace before her lover made it home.

“You know that you’re infuriating, right?” she spat back, but Cassian wasn’t even remotely phased. The downside of being the softer sister. Cassian was all but immune to any ribbing Elain could give him.

Elain tried not to let it get to her too much as the General chuckled and turned back to his own piece, the makings of someone curled into a plush armchair, which was sure to turn into a gorgeous rendition of Nesta when he finished. The smug bastard didn’t need to rub it in that he was already done with their assignment, and she was just weighing him down. With a sigh, she returned to her exercise in futility.

* * *

After months and months of sneaking around when the Spymaster was off fulfilling his duties to the Night Court, Elain finally had something she was proud of. All the blood, sweat, and tears had been worth it in order to create this final sketch—a family portrait, with Azriel standing front and center, enveloped in his brothers’ arms as she, her sisters, Mor, and Amren flanked the three of them.

Her heart pounding out of her chest, she pulled open the drawer where he kept his journal and flipped to the last page he’d filled in, her heart fully committed to leaping out of her chest as she beheld the image of herself, wearing his favorite cobalt dress, the sleeve slipping off her shoulder seductively.

For all the ways in which Azriel struggled with expressing himself, this was not one of them. She could feel the love radiating off of the image in droves, as she drank in the vision of how she appeared in his eyes.

Swallowing a gulp, she slipped the portrait of her own making between the pages and slid it back into its hiding spot before absconding from the room.

* * *

“What’s this?” Azriel called warily from their bedroom, as Elain kneaded the dough for a loaf of sourdough in their kitchen. She fled to him with alarm, unwilling to let him face whatever this was alone, before she noticed that his sketchbook was out, and he was holding her family portrait in his hands, wings drooped across the mattress.

Of course. It had been days since she’d hidden it, yet Azriel had been admittedly busier than usual so he must not have had time to fully unwind until now.

She gently padded up to him, taking a seat beneath the gossamer of his wing and murmured, “It’s our family.”

“But why is it here?”

“I drew it for you. I happened across this one day, and I thought it was a damn shame that you didn’t make an appearance on the page.”

“When?”

“Months ago. I’m not even sure. But I’ve been taking lessons with Feyre and Cassian ever since.”

“You did all this for me. Why?” Of all the questions, somehow Elain hadn’t been expecting this.

“Because I love you, Azriel. And our friends and family love you. You deserve to get to see that and be reminded of it every day.”

Azriel tugged her chin up until their eyes met, the ghost of a tear floating down one of his cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispered as he placed a delicate kiss on her lips.


End file.
